Holy Angel in Heaven blessed
by Olivia Greene
Summary: Kayverse. As Raoul mourns his beloved Christine’s death, doubts begin to form in his mind as to who she truly loved. Then a surprising discovery finally enables him to make his peace with both his late wife and the other man who loved her.


As I shut the door behind me, the sound seemed to echo somberly through the house, emphasizing just how large, empty and gloomy it was. Strange, I had never before thought of it that way. In my eyes, our home had always been large, yet warm and friendly and filled with love and laughter. _Her_ love and laughter. It was odd how just one person could make such a difference. I sighed and my shoulders slumped. Numbness enveloped me - my body's instinctive emotional morphine. I felt nothing. And yet I knew what it was I should have been feeling. I dreaded the time when my numbness would wear away and I would be forced to face that pain, alone.

Keep busy, that's what the priest had told me. Keep busy. Busy with what? In a house full of servants there was absolutely nothing _to_ do! Not even Charles was home, he had gone to stay with my mother for a short while. She had thought she would do me a favour by giving me a little time and space to grieve alone and I had been thankful, initially. Yet now my loneliness and grief threatened to rust my sanity. I decided to heed the priest's advice - anything to distract myself - and dragged my hollow body up the ornate staircase and down the hall to our room in the right wing -- what had once _been_ our room.

On the threshold, I faltered. She was still here. Her presence, sweet, serene and beautiful, still lingered in this room. In this house. Everywhere. Drawn by it and a sudden need to feel near to her, I moved towards her dresser.

I opened her beautiful jewellery box - a wedding present from myself - and examined all the pieces within. The pieces told an almost complete history of our lives together. Various pieces were gifts of mine from anniversaries and birthdays, and a few were even more significant: I recognized the ruby choker I gave her on Charles' birth, the emerald bracelet I gave her for her thirtieth birthday - it seemed just days ago that we had been so happy - and, of course, the large diamond engagement ring I presented to the beautiful young woman I fell so hopelessly in love with so very many years ago. That time had seemed so long ago for so long, yet now, sitting here today, I recalled it as if it were yesterday.

I closed the jewellery box and, fighting a lump suddenly rising in my throat, picked up the photographs Christine kept on her dresser, one by one. We were so very happy together, the three of us. Our smiles and happy face stare back at me through the past and I can hear faint wisps of our laughter echoing back to me across the plains of time. We were so happy, I thought again, tears stinging my eyes as I gazed at her lovely, smiling, unmoving face. Why did you have to leave us so soon?

As my thoughts drifted to her, my gaze fell to the bottom righter drawer of her dresser. My breath caught in my throat. This one is the locked drawer. The drawer of Secrets. I had never seen it's contents, that information was known solely to my wife. She never told me and I knew better than to ask. My eyes were still on the drawer. In my mind, tiny tendrils of curiosity were beginning to snake their way around the thick alabaster of grief. I could open it now, pick the lock and see what contents it holds. Finally know the truth. See at last where I have stood all these years. But I am afraid. From the day I went to fetch her for the last time from that dreadful place, I knew I would never have her wholly to myself.

I have had very few illusions. I knew she kept her secrets from me, that was alright, I kept mine. On that aforementioned evening in the cellars, so very long ago, I found I locket when I went down there to bring her back that one last time. It's glass was smashed and the photographs in it were badly aged, but I recognized both people. They were of a woman and a man, both with old-fashioned clothes and hair. The woman bore an extremely strong resemblance to my darling Christine, only with a look of more determination about the mouth and eyes. The man I only recognized years later. He was our Charles to the life. I never spoke to Christine about the locket. I kept my doubts to myself, and even though I thought it would be a difficult burden to bear, I soon found it pleasantly light and even enjoyable. I loved Charles dearly, and he loved me; what more could a father ask for?

My hands were trembling as I picked the lock, but I felt no remorse or guilt doing so. Christine would have wanted me to know the truth, I knew she would and I knew her better than anyone else in the world. She just hadn't possessed the courage to tell me in life. That was all. With a sudden _click_ the lock gave way and I, holding my breath, my heartbeat racing, slowly slid open the drawer. And exhaled in surprise.

I honestly and truly had not conjured up any images in my mind about what elusive contents the drawer could possibly hold. I had merely thought of nothing and just opened it. And yet even if I had, what I would have imagined would have been nothing like what met my eyes now.

Rose petals. The entire drawer was filled with rose petals, both red and white, all withered with age. For a brief moment I was confounded, then I recalled an episode that had happened so long ago, I had almost forgotten it already. It had been Charles' first birthday, and as a surprise that I thought would please her, I placed a single red rose on her plate that morning for breakfast. I had expected her to be pleased, but instead, much to my amazement and confusion, she had cried. I couldn't understand what was wrong, and put it down to motherly feeling. Whatever it was, she never did it again when I turned my sudden, spontaneous action into an annual tradition. This must be them, all those roses. And for every red one she must have added a white. Why, I will never know.

And then I noticed other things, submersed in the petals of sixteen red and sixteen white roses. My probing fingers found two small scraps of paper, a necklace and a sealed letter. I held the necklace up to light to get a better look at it and suddenly I recognized the stones as the same diamonds that had previously graced our old Siamese cat's expensive collar. The cat that Christine had brought with her after her last visit to the labyrinth beneath the Opera House. The cat that had belonged to That Person... What was the dastardly animal's name again? Ayesha. I never had liked her, nor she me, horrid creature. Yet Christine had loved her, and when she died, had had a necklace made from the priceless stones in Ayesha's collar. She had never worn it, and I saw it now for the first time in years.

I put down the collier and picked up the scraps of paper. I recognized both to be snippets of libretto from some of the many operas Christine had sung in.

_My heart foreseeing your condemnation to this tomb,_

_I made my way to you by stealth,_

_and here, far from every human eye,_

_in your arms I longed to die._

I shuddered, trying hard, and yet not really succeeding, not to draw any parallels between the words and ... other things. I picked up the second piece. It was shorter than the first:

_Holy angel in Heaven blessed, my spirit longs with thee to rest._

As the tears welled up in my eyes, so did the questions in my mind. Had she loved him all along after all? Even after all he'd done to us, after all he'd done to her? If so, then why had she married me? And why were all the verses about death? Had she meant...? No, it couldn't be possible. I banished the idea from my mind. I picked up the last item, the letter, hoping it could give me some of the answers I so badly craved. As I turned it over, I gasped in surprised. It was addressed to me in Christine's delicate hand.

Nervously, I opened it and read the words. It was dated the 15th of July 1886. That was only four months ago.

_My dearest darling Raoul,_

_I have always known that one day the day would come when you would open this drawer and find this letter. I knew that you would do so when the time was right and I was no longer with you. I felt the need to include this letter in the drawer that contained items that belonged to a former life of mine. All the other mementos of this era are long gone and forgotten, these are the few I cannot bear to part with. _

_I never told you of their existence because I was afraid you wouldn't understand and I would vex you. Erik, the Angel of Music, the Phantom of the Opera, belongs to my past. However much I may wish to, I cannot erase that. There was once a time when I thought I loved him, but my love for him was very different to my love for you, and it was long ago and before I met you again. I cannot make that time undone, but I want you to know that, should you have ever doubted my feelings for you, don't. What has been has been and can't be changed, but I have moved on. Erik was my past, you are my present and my future, and I wouldn't change any of those parts for the world. _

_I also wish to thank you. You have been the best husband any woman could wish for and the best father Charles could ever have hoped to have had. I am so pleased that I had the chance to share my life with you, my darling. You are the only man I would ever have wanted to share my life with. You made my life worth living again and showed me happiness once more. For this I will be eternally grateful to you. Never forget how much I love you. I loved you in every waking moment of my life and when I slept as well. _

_I have loved you ever since I was seven, although I never did have the courage to tell you this, and will continue doing so for the rest of my life, _

_Forever and always yours,_

_Lotte_

Tears welled up in my eyes and spilled unashamed down my cheeks as I read the letter. So Christine had loved me and me alone. What had passed between her and her Angel was long gone long before she married me. The relief was tangible. All these years, despite how happy we had been, there had always been the slight sliver of a doubt, but now I knew for sure and all doubts were dispelled. Christine had truly loved me and me alone. This piece of information allowed me to see my situation in a wholly new light.

Yes, I still grieved for my beloved wife, torn so young from the world she loved and from those who loved her, but now I felt as if a great yet at the same time almost imperceptible weight had been lifted off of my shoulders. A weight that had been there so long, I had almost forgotten it's existence. My grief was tempered with a feeling of serene contentment. So she did love me, had loved me, all along! Of course, she still cared for he who had once been her Angel, but I hadn't in the least expected her to ostracize him from her mind completely, neither had I really wanted her to. He had been there for my beloved Christine in times when she had needed support and I couldn't be there to know that. All of a sudden, thanks to my own relief, I felt a surge of thankfulness towards he who had, for so long, been my sworn enemy. For the first time ever, all three of our spirits were complete at peace.

Christine was in Heaven and happy - and it was only a matter of years before I saw her again. Until then, I had her memories, our memories, and I could bask in their warm glow, safe and happy in the knowledge that my Angel had truly loved me and me alone.

***

Before they buried my Lotte, I went to pay my last respects. Her eyes were closed as if in sleep, a tiny contented smile played on her still rosy lips, her warm chestnut locks framed a face of still perfect proportions and a complexion that not even age and death had managed to dim. She was wearing her favourite turquoise dress and her tiny little hands were clasped serenely at her waist. She was beautiful, as beautiful in death as she had been in life.

I watched her for a moment and said my goodbyes. I told her I had found her drawer, thanked her for her letter, for her love and for choosing to make me the happiest man alive by sharing her life with me. I also asked her forgiveness for ever having doubted her sincerity, even though it was only subconscious. Finally, I ended by opening the little bag I had brought with me.

Inside the bag were what were probably her most valuable possessions. I felt a pang of sadness and, perhaps, guilt. These had been her most precious belongings, but not because she had loved Erik through all these years; rather because they symbolized a period in her life that had been a momentous turning point for her; during this time she had realized that she loved me and had chosen to marry me. She would have liked to have shared these things with me, but had felt too afraid to show me lest I should be jealous. I now wished I had not been so suspicious but what was passed was passed and could not be changed. One had to move on. Christine had understood that, her letter had told me so. Now it was time for me to do so as well.

I clasped the diamond collier about her alabaster neck and folded the two pieces of libretto between her fingers. ..._Holy angel in Heaven blessed, my spirit longs with thee to rest..._ I scattered the rose petals around her hair. They settled into her beautiful curls and gave her an ethereal look, like an elfin princess. The letter, though, I kept for myself; a constant reminder of the wonderful life we had shared.

Slowly, I leaned over and tenderly kissed her forehead. "Go," I whispered lovingly, "go and meet your Angel."


End file.
